Death's Child
by Lessiehanamoray
Summary: Marilake Baenre, one of the deadliest assassins of Faerun, and most certainly in Mehnzobrazzen. How did he come to his calling of assassin? What events and rules govern his life? How ruthless is he? Servant of the Shard spoilers.
1. Vheraun orLolth?

Disclaimer:Jarlaxle, Zaknafien, and Matron Baenre do not belong to me. They belong to R.A. Salvatore and Wizard's of the Coast, as does the world and city. No profit is being made off of this.

Author's Note: Marilak is EVIL! I just want to point this out in case it's not obvious. I would also like to note that I am aware of how quickly this jumps in, this is more of a series of scenes in order. If you read my other fanfictions you'll learn more about Marilak. I would also like to note that the first scene is a little gruesome, but not heavily explained.

SECTION 1: An Unexpected Lesson

At sixteen years of age Marilak Baenre cut a fine figure. He had matured quickly and females were beginning to take notice of him.

He didn't seem to notice and it bothered Rhydian, his mother, to no end. This day she glared at her son, who just sat confidently on the desk.

"Mariahan wishes to see you tomorrow evening," she said abruptly.

Marilak didn't even seem to notice.

"Stand!" the female commanded suddenly. Marilak stood.

Rhydian walked up to her son and put a hand on the bulge of his trousers well the other began to undo his shirt.

"What is this?" the young Marilak questioned.

"I want to teach you," was her reply. "Now, take off your shirt!"

Marilak did as he was told. Grinning, Rhydian forced his legs to part. Then, she undid his belt and slid his pants down.

"You're going to…"

Marilak's words caught in his throat as his mother pushed him into the bed and undid her own garb. Before he could move she sat on top of his chest.

Marilak shut the world out as she moved her hands along his body, eliciting pain here, pleasure there. Suddenly, one very sharp jolt of pain came where there should be none. He opened his eyes.

His mother's legs wrapped around his head and he didn't even want to know what she was doing to his nether regions.

He bit her. She yelped and raised her dagger. He kicked her, causing her to reel backwards. He then grabbed her throat. The dagger scratched its mark and he screamed in pain. She fell lifeless on top of him and he felt his own blood.

For a moment he just lay there, then he rolled on top of her and grabbed the dagger from her lifeless hands.

He slashed the dagger across her stomach and washed his hands in blood.

SECTION 2: What Creature is this?

Marilak kneeled before Matron Mother Baenre with so calm an image that even she found it unsettling. This young drow infuriated her. He had just killed a female, and in such a gruesome way! Such a wonderfully, gruesome way!

Baenre pushed that out of her mind, but couldn't help but wonder if Rhydian had been deserving it.

She glared at Marilak for a while more, feeling that he was testing her faith, then, in her most commanding of voices.

"Lay yourself upon the altar."

Marilak looked very briefly into her eyes and for that moment she looked into his. They were red, but not quite the normal shade. They were a rustic red, darker than most other drow's eyes and the exact color of blood.

She forced herself to merely think about the upcoming sacrificed. Most of the time they were major events, but his was not and she would need only herself in attendance.

Or was there another reason for her desire to destroy him quickly?

As Marilak moved toward the altar Matron Mother Baenre realized that this young drow scared her. There was something about him, something very, very wrong.

Marilak lay upon the altar and glared at her, realizing that his life was forfeit anyway, and spread his arms out wide as his grandmother began to chant.

This young one is cruel, he would be perfect to keep an eye on Jarlaxle. He would be a counterpoint to that one's weak heart. No, he had killed a female. Baenre raised the dagger above her head. Then, she stopped.

His hands bled.

For a moment she just looked at the hand closest to her. After a moment she picked up her nerve and followed a droplet of blood to the floor.

For a moment the priestess stood there, unable to move. Then, she lowered her dagger and lifted her head so she could look Marilak in the eyes.

"Off!"

Marilak was confused, and suspicious. What torture could she have prepared?

"Go to your room and pack for travel, you're going to be doing some training with one of your uncles."

Marilak looked at her, but only for an instant. He then scurried off to do as she bade wondering what she had planned.

When the young drow left Matron Mother Baenre circled the altar, and found herself shocked once more.

On one side of the altar was the familiar spider-shaped symbol of Lolth, where is other hand had been and also drawn in blood was the domino mask symbol of Vheraun.

"What creature is this?" she whispered and indeed she wondered. Was he a chosen of Lolth or of the hated enemy Vheraun?


	2. Uncle

Author's Note: Sorry about the confusion on Marilak's age. He should be sixteen. I only just realized that after looking at Homeland again. Also, please don't read this if you haven't read Servant of the Shard. There were sort of spoilers in the last chapter, but you really don't want to read this one if you haven't FINISHED Servant.

* * *

Jarlaxle looked across his desk at the young drow. Just a few short moments ago he had walked in with a letter from Matron Baenre stating that he was to take this young one, Jarlaxle's nephew, into his care. There had been no other explanation offered. In fact, the name of the child had not even been given.

"What is your name?" he asked in his most commanding voice. This was not the time for banter; this was the time to assert control.

"Marilak Baenre…sir," the young drow replied tersely.

Jarlaxle narrowed his eyes. He did not truly sense respect from this one, and yet there was the realization there was respect. The young drow had studied him in that pause, and had decided that Jarlaxle was one to be respected. That was good, very good.

"Do you specialize in anything?"

"I am young, but I have learned some things with a weapon."

"But not much," Jarlaxle added with a small grin. His prediction on the youth had been about right. He was probably about only sixteen years of age and had just been about to begin his training.

"May I ask your name, Sir?" Marilak requested suddenly.

"You may," Jarlaxle replied his grin widening.

Marilak waited for a moment before asking," What is your name, Sir?"

"Jarlaxle, and that is all you need know me by."

"Jarlaxle," Marilak whispered nearly silently. This was the name of the drow he would have to call master. Marilak looked at Jarlaxle again.

Jarlaxle at this time was about 116 years of age. He had no eye patch, but the ridiculous hat was already a standard. Jarlaxle wore a fine white shirt with puffy sleeves and his pants were tight around his waist. He was also wearing a fine red sash. Jarlaxle's boots came up to the thigh and were a fine black themselves. At his side was a fine looking rapier, a fine looking rapier that Marilak hoped to never see pointed at him.

Jarlaxle was, of course, studying young Marilak just as intensely.

Probably the first thing he noticed about the youth was his eyes. They were the exact color of blood. Jarlaxle was not superstitious by nature, but had learned that eyes frequently expressed something about the person. These were probably as dark as they were partially because Marilak's spirit was dark. Marilak wore a saber at his right hip, which implied to Jarlaxle that he was left handed, and very basic and practical drow clothing. For some reason Jarlaxle had the suspicious feeling that Marilak had been brought here to teach Jarlaxle the lessons, not the other way around. It seemed best not to let him know that though.

"I will not go easy on you."

"I would not expect you to," Marilak responded simply.

Jarlaxle arched one of his fine white eyebrows. He wanted Marilak to speak as much as possible. It wasn't for his hearing either; the young drow had a voice that was just naturally…evil. Indeed, he showed signs of being related to Matron Baenre.

"Matron Baenre sent me here after almost sacrificing me. I doubt she would spare me out of the mercy of her heart."

Jarlaxle laughed at that. Indeed, she wouldn't. Still, it made him very suspicious. What was he supposed to find out about this youth?

"What exactly did you do that could so raise her ire?" he asked. It seemed a really silly question. After all, breathing a little too deeply or yawning in the middle of…anything with that one could get you placed on the altar if she was in a not wondrous mood.

"I killed my mother," Marilak responded with his chin raised and pride in his voice.

"In what manner?"

"I strangled her and then bathed my hands in her blood," he announced matter-of-factly.

Jarlaxle managed not to choke or show any signs of how badly he wanted to. No wonder Baenre had spared him, she had probably been proud of his viciousness. Jarlaxle was glad to say that he took more after his grandparent than his mother, that wasn't so great a statement for his nephew. Still…

"I will call for one of my soldiers to escort you to your room. It is your own private space, but I expect to be able to enter whenever it is needed. You may not leave without requesting it first. If you do will, that rule will soften."

As if on cue a knock sounded on the door. "That would be your escort," Jarlaxle said haughtily. Marilak stood, bowed slightly, and walked through the door.

Jarlaxle leaned back in thought once more. This one belonged in shadows far blacker than Jarlaxle even wanted to look at, but he knew of someone who truly lived in them.

* * *

Marilak looked around his simple room just moments later. His trunk had already been placed at the foot of the bed and there was a basin with which to wash his face. He sat down on the bed that was hard as a rock, but didn't care. So, Jarlaxle was his uncle. He could see where the older drow deserved respect, but did not want to be turned into some dandy. He also refused to truly yield to a master. With that in mind he slipped into reverie, and relived the best moments of his short life, the two killings that had already taken place in sixteen years of life.

* * *

Author's Note: Yes, I know it's short. This is not my main project, but since my main project isn't going so well I decided to work on some of my shorter ones. I would also like to thank those who review and say, feel free to point out grammatical mistakes. I didn't even really go through the editing with this chapter...so it's probably not going to be perfect. 


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